


Wild Ride

by gottageekout



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: (or at least he's trying his best...sometimes), (so assume the highest it'll ever get is M), Bickering, Bisexual Female Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Codependency, Companionable Snark, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POVs may switch, Ratings Will Fluctuate Between Chapters, Sharing a Body, Slow Build, Soft Johnny Silverhand, Street Kid V (Cyberpunk 2077), Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:35:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28393983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gottageekout/pseuds/gottageekout
Summary: V never imagined just how much Johnny Silverhand would start integrating himself into her everyday life so quickly. Whether she likes it or not, it seems like she's got herself a new partner-in-crime.(A collection of short stories set during Act 2 of the game, Street Kid lifepath)
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand & Female V, Johnny Silverhand/Female V
Comments: 23
Kudos: 124





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was struck very quickly by how much I just wanted...more of Johnny and V, the two person army of Night City. Him showing up during random gigs to chime in or be an asshat quickly became some of my favorite parts of the game. It was only a matter of time I started wanting to write something like this.
> 
> Generally, each chapter will be its own small standalone interaction, though all of them will extend what's given in canon in some way. I'll try to create some semblance of order, but since the game is open world, it's gonna be a bit timey-wimey, ya feel me? Please read notes to know what each chapter is referring to in terms of what quest it's set during.
> 
> And, finally: my street kid V has gone down the pretty specific path of being ride or die with this rockerboy terrorist and treats him like separate person from herself. He's generally pretty decent to her because of that in my playthrough and I let that reflect in how I characterize him here.
> 
> (He's still a bastard man, though. LOL.)
> 
> This particular chapter refers to the Zen Master questline and The Hunt, which is during River's questline. While it doesn't reference specifics in the latter's questline, it does vaguely mention upsetting things, so be warned that particular quest is fucked up.

V still cannot explain the Zen Master she kept coming across, but her mind drifts to him more often than she expects lately. In a way, she wasn’t really surprised – in extending herself to the even more unsavory corners of Night City, she’s seen more and more things that keep her up at night far more than the ticking time bomb eating away at her mind. The day had been a particularly bad one among even the long list of awful things she'd come across. The moment she opted into helping River find his nephew she knew it was going to be bad, whether it all had a happy ending or not. What she hadn’t prepared for was the way they found the victims, those blue masks encapsulating their faces somehow making the scene just a little more horrific to witness. With her nightmares full of death imagery already, she already can't _wait_ for those things to inevitably show up to add to why she sleeps as little as possible these days.

It’s early morning when she finally leaves the scene of the crime and lets the NCPD do their jobs, discarding the stale coffee she’d been sipping. Exhaustion is an old friend to her at this point, but she can't bring herself to even consider going home to sleep. On a whim, she just starts to drive, her winding path finally ending when she reaches a quiet area of the Badlands, on a cliff that’s not unlike the last time she meditated outside with that weird fucking monk. There was a time in her life she would have scoffed at the idea of trying to escape to find solace in solitude and silence, too focused on the push toward greatness. Now all she wants to do was slow down, if just for a little while.

She doesn’t have any of the meditation braindances with her, but she sits in a proper position anyway once she parks her motorcycle and finds a spot to sit. She’s gone through them enough she can probably repeat them by heart, knows what’s expected of her even without the guidance. Still, without the focus she knows they have always afforded her, she keeps waiting for Johnny to start interrupting to insist she stop wasting time. There’s a point halfway through that she finally senses his more physical presence near her, the link between them always stirring a subtle pull towards him. Instead of the smart-ass remark she's assuming will come, he remains silent, and she manages to sit long enough the tension in her chest releases and she feels like she can finally breathe right again.

It’s only then that she finally relaxes and opens one eye, knowing exactly where to look to see him. She’s surprised to find he’s sitting instead of looming next to her, his gaze out toward the sunrise in front of them as he idly takes a drag of the glitchy cigarette she knows is doing nothing for him.

“Uncharacteristically quiet today,” she notes, not bothering to hide she’d expected worse from him. He meets her gaze with a neutral expression, his eyes hidden behind his usual aviators.

“Just didn’t want to hear you bitching about interrupting your ‘ohm’ shit,” he shrugs, and even though she can’t see it, she knows he’s rolling his eyes at her. “You pull yourself together yet?”

He means it to sound like he's doing what he always does - pushing her insistently ever forward. Thing is, Johnny is an open book to her whether he wants to be or not and the twinge of genuine concern in her chest is definitely not coming from her. It is a feeling she’s noticed coming more from him lately, often spiking around her episodes of pain. Having her brain parasite pity her isn’t exactly the best sign of how things are going, all things considered.

“I don’t say ‘ohm’,” she points out, needlessly pedantic in the face of the small jab at her coping methods. “And yeah, just fucking – just fucking needed to _stop_ for a second. The stuff in that barn – shit, Johnny, I don’t know.”

V waits for the lecture on how she needs to get over it, that they had bigger fish to fry. Their interwoven fates and her life has a time limit ever-present over their heads that doesn’t stop for her breakdowns. He doesn’t in the end, and she’s surprised when she feels a rare moment of their emotions syncing, swelling her own fury in a way that's she needs to take a moment to keep her head on straight.

“Christ, what a fucking shit show last night was,” he concurs in a rough voice, and it’s only then that V realizes he’s been itching for an opportunity to talk to her about it. “If it were me, I woulda told that ex-badge to shoot the fucker in the head.”

She settles into a more comfortable seated position, leaning back on her hands. The intensity of her feelings during the situation is starting to make more sense now as she realizes he’d been as invested as she was, whether it involved a cop's family member or not. In a way, she’s not surprised. How often now has he appeared to chime in when she was piecing together often violent crimes on behalf of her fixers? A lot of time it’s a mere curiosity, something different than mowing down gangs in her way, but sometimes he gets wrapped up in it all. She hadn’t realized until just then this case had been something he’d been genuinely paying attention to.

“Trust me, it wasn’t out of any sense of right and wrong. Before all of the shit happening to the two of us, I probably would have helped him do it,” she admits, balling her hands into fists as she thinks about it. “But now I just keep thinkin’ – if the fucker can dream, it means he’s there enough to be trapped in his memories with no way to wake up. You of all people should know what that kinda hell is like. Way I see it, I saved River from lessening his punishment and getting in trouble in the process.”

Johnny exhales a long sigh, pausing in the way she knows he does when he’s parsing what she’s said. Justice is a tricky thing – they both know that from experience – but from the way she feels a little calmer soon after, she thinks he’s on her page. Thinks he’ll even drop it until -

“Not very Zen of ya, V.” There is a twinge of dark amusement in his voice. She can't help it, her mouth twists up into a tiny smile almost immediately.

“What do you mean? I just reasoned all of that very fucking calmly. Meditation workin' like a charm,” she jokes, then steadfastly ignores the pleasant feeling that comes from hearing him laugh in a quick huff of noise. “I'm tellin' ya, you should give it a try sometimes. Might even make you less of an asshole.”

She just can't help but needle him just a little bit. He lifts a sharp brow at her, sniping back, “Dunno, hasn’t done a damn thing for you on that front yet either, kid. Can’t say I mind that it shuts you up for a while when you do it, though. Couple minutes of peace for your incessant stream of bullshit.”

It wasn’t too long ago he would’ve just achieved getting an actual rise out of her. Being around him long enough now has given her the perspective of knowing when there’s no venom in his words. Sure enough, when she shoots him a look, there’s the faintest hint of a smirk on his face.

“Yeah, yeah,” she waves him off, making a show of just how much she knew he's blowing a bunch of hot air. “For what it’s worth, I needed a fucking break from our brain too, so thanks for leaving me alone for once. Who knew you could be considerate? Wonders never fucking cease.”

For good measure, V makes sure she's got a sickeningly sweet smile on to go with that compliment. True to her assumptions of how he'd react, Johnny visibly grimaces at his good deed being called out and vanishes with a parting middle finger. She assumes it to be the last time she sees him for a little while, but he blinks back into existence some paces away a few seconds later, near the edge of the little cliff they’re standing on.

“Can we go? Don't care where - literally anywhere but this fucking piece of rock,” he grouses, staring out toward the horizon. “We got shit to do, V. Stop fucking around.”

There it is, that's his officially _done_ with her tone of voice. She laughs softly to herself as she stands, wiping away the sand from her palms on her pants. “Fine, let’s ride.”

He’s gone again after she looks away from him long enough to get Jackie’s bike to roar to life and she knows she probably won't be seeing him for a while. Lingering just a little longer to look out into the distance and taking a deep breath of air, she can't help but think she just might be able to salvage the day if she really tries.

For the moment, at least, she's better than earlier, and that's something worth focusing on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too many very direct references here, but more a general callout @ myself for being bad at guns and specifically choosing the "contagion/melt brains" netrunner build I rolled with, which was great even in early game...as long as I didn't get noticed. Ahem. (look up plague doctor build on youtube if you want a build that is absolutely disgusting, especially in end game with proper gear, eheh).
> 
> The end of Act 1, the Playing for Keeps gig and a certain Johnny-related item you get near endgame is referenced, though. You've been warned of spoilers.
> 
> Please accept [this screenshot](https://i.ibb.co/72rtPbG/Epyoi70-XYAE2-G-q.jpg) of the general V look in my head with this story, in case you were curious. She's a scamp, that one.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

It is a small miracle, after the dust settles and she watches the final body fall in front of her, that V is still standing.

A deep crimson's been blooming under her hand as she clutches the cut on her side, limping from the elevator to her apartment. The usual hike from the garage to her place usually isn’t that bad, but it’s shocking how long it feels when all she wants to do is collapse and catch her breath. Every step is painful in all the ways that concern her. The way people give her a wide berth is probably a bad sign, especially coupled with looks that feel a little like they're just waiting for her to collapse so they can loot her body of anything good.

And then there's Johnny.

“If you didn’t waste time skulking around and got better at shooting the fuckers, this shit wouldn’t happen,” she hears him gripe from somewhere beside her. V doesn’t bother to scan the area like she usually does. Been ignoring him the whole way back, in fact, because he seems incapable of knowing when his shit really isn’t fucking _helping_.

She doesn't need him to tell her she fucked up, she knows. Thought where she positioned herself had been a perfect spot that both kept her hidden and was in eyeshot of the camera she needed to get into their systems, but she hadn’t scoped it out well enough to nearly fatal results. The moment will be something she's sure she will replay more than once to herself as a reminder of what happens when she gets sloppy. She doesn't need him to make it worse and yet that's exactly what he's doing. It's really only a matter of time before she snaps.

“ _Enough_. You’re one to talk. Sorry I don’t charge headlong in and expect my chooms to watch my back,” Her tone is sharp even said in her mind, her emotions clearly on a hair-trigger. Without a second thought, she goes for the throat even when she can even recognize it not being right to do. “I’m on my own out there, what’s _your_ excuse for fucking up?”

She bursts through the door to her apartment without waiting for him to respond. Never one to just leave things, she’s hardly surprised when Johnny glitches from behind her and reforms in the doorway of her bathroom, blocking her path. There is something to be said about how intimidating he can be when he's furious and it stops her in her tracks, at least momentarily. “V, if you were even 1/10th the kinda netrunner I ran with, you wouldn’t need the help. You wanna play who cocks up missions worse? I’ve fucking _seen_ the run that left you with my chip in your head. Interesting difference between us is _I_ paid for my screw-up. Your _choom_ was the one that took the brunt for you.”

That’s the thing with them, this uncanny ability to know exactly what to say to make it hurt. She sunk into his worst moment and he’s retaliated with hers in turn. It leaves her dangerously close to tears, the hollow, all-encompassing grief of Jackie’s death ripped to the forefront of her mind when she’s already feeling fragile.

“You absolute bastard. Fuck you, Johnny. Just -” she falters when her voice hitches with emotion, feeling a little like she’d just been punched solidly in the gut. She can’t hide from him knowing how much he just got to her, but she refuses to break when he’s standing there. “Leave me the fuck alone. _Leave_. _”_

The pill bottle is nearby, she knows she can take them and _make_ him shut up. Every time it’s like this, she knows she can take them. It’d be so easy to take a break from what sometimes feels like a constant need to validate her worth to the thing in her head that’s trying to erase her. Decent reasoning or not, every time she resists it. Has consideration that Johnny doesn’t all together _deserve_ from her sometimes.

And, much to her surprise, he even acquiesces without much fuss. There’s a moment his sharp gaze relents to a muted surprised look and he’s clearly about to say something, but whatever it is he seems to choose not to speak it. Instead, he just looks away and vanishes, just like that. Left alone with now newly fractured emotions, she feels dizzy in a way she knows isn’t from blood loss.

“Fuck,” she says out loud to herself, wiping at her face angrily when she feels hot tears starting to run down her face. As a final fuck you from her own body, her vision suddenly begins to blur a little and the telltale warning of relic malfunction comes just before her lungs seize up in a coughing fit. It immediately sends her scrambling to hold onto the wall so she doesn’t collapse, leaning heavily against it as the world around her spins. A few minutes pass before she feels safe enough to move and even then she has to stagger, gait unsteady, into the bathroom to inspect herself in the mirror. Sure, she’s currently a mess of grime and blood but when she checks the ugly gash of a wound, but she can also see her body repairing itself, slowly but surely. Any good news is something she can at least cling to right now.

Peeling off her clothes and leaving them in a messy heap, she steps into her shower, staying in far longer than she needs to. It helps a little bit, makes her feel more stable, and when she eventually reemerges, she’s pulled herself together enough that she feels like she can face things again if it’s forced on her. Johnny never comes back, though, and her apartment is eerily silent without his presence.

It’s a few hours after that she finds herself laid out in bed and unable to sleep. On a whim, she picks up her phone, scrolling down her list of contacts with a smooth flick of her finger to find the familiar name she still hasn’t deleted. It’s not like she thinks Jackie is going to magically answer the phone, but she at least can seek the comfort of the brief clip of his voice. It just keeps ringing and ringing, and she realizes it’s probably because his line has been cut off. No sense paying for a line for someone who’s not around to use it anymore, she knows that, but it stings regardless. 

The feeling of loss lingers as she throws her phone aside. Shitty cap to a shitty day, she supposes she shouldn’t be surprised any longer.

* * *

Johnny doesn’t come back the next morning. If the silence hadn’t been preceded by the sort of night she had, the sort of fight they had, she wouldn’t have thought much about it. V is also not entirely sure what to do about it, nor does she know why she cares.

(She knows, _of course_ she knows, _but_.)

Swinging by Vik’s had been the plan even before the argument had happened. She’s got some errors that aren’t relic-related popping off and while her body’s recovered from the clusterfuck that went down in that warehouse, she knows the last thing she needs right now is to not address things that can be fixed. He gets her set up to be checked within a few minutes of her arriving. How quickly he finds the problem area isn't much of a surprise to her and he's tinkering and installing a new piece of cyberware he suggests and she buys off of him before she knows it. For the rest of the time she's in the chair, she tries to think of the best way to bring up the niggling concerns she has in the back of her head without making him worry.

When she comes up with nothing, she simply says it. “You don’t…notice anything weird with the chip, right?”

The ripperdoc seems surprised at first, then - as she assumed would happen - vaguely _concerned_.

“Kid, I don’t know if I could tell you anything substantial if I wanted to,” he admits, sliding his stool closer so he can get a better look at her readings. He’s quiet for a long moment and she gives him time to come up with an answer. “Hrm. Well, things _are_ steadily getting worse, but I’m not noticing anything that wasn't already expected. Why? Somethin’ going on?”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so. Not with the _chip_ , anyway. Johnny – well, he can be a lot sometimes, that’s all.”

She can see Vik studying her as she speaks, his head tilting to one side. “Are the pills not working?”

Right. She thinks about the pills and how few she’s taken of them. Knows taking _more_ would make this situation she's in less fraught with dramatics. There's no reasonable, sane way to explain she feels bad for the thing ( _person_ ) that's currently snuffing her out bit by bit so she doesn't even try.

“A little, yeah. But I can’t take them all the time,” she shrugs, glancing away guiltily. That in itself is probably a tell that she’s withholding something, but it’s better than her letting him read her expression completely. “Anyway, I haven’t taken anythin’ but he still hasn’t shown himself yet today, so I was just wondering. He’s probably being a little shit, don’t worry about it.”

“Mm.” Vik does not sound convinced. “Well, my door’s always open if there’s something I can do, V. I hope you know that.”

Open offer as always – she can tell he’s decided not to push and is immensely grateful for it. A moment later she stands carefully from the chair, reaching out to clasp a hand on his shoulder in a companionable sort of way.

“I appreciate it,” she replies, lifting her hand away after. “And thanks for the tune-up.”

He nods, already sliding his stool back to its usual spot near his small television. “Be careful out there, V.”

It's nearly an impossible ask from her given the shit she’s found herself in, but she still answers airily over her shoulder, “Always.”

* * *

He appears when she least expects it. A gig that has her stealing back an eye someone lost in a bet had been child’s play for her, something practically beneath her. She took it anyway, if only because of the easy eddies and the boost to her confidence that the night before had been an outlier. The sunlight is starting to fade as night begins to fall, but she can’t bear to go back to a silent apartment. After some consideration, she opts to grab some food instead, finding some quiet area that she can eat in peace. Not close enough to her usual haunts, she ends up having to buy from an outdoor stall and hope for the best. In retrospect, she probably should have called having exceedingly subpar food would finally bring Johnny out of hiding.

“Ugh, what the fuck are you eating?”

She startles a little, turning her head sharply to look toward the too familiar, slouching form. She’s not sure when he materialized, but she finds him nearly right beside her, leaned back against the railing she's been using. Lifting a brow, the instinct to reply with something inflammatory is something she barely resists.

“Hot dawg,” she explains instead, shrugging as she takes another bite. Food is a means to an end for her – she doesn’t remember the last time she ate something because she likes it. “Coulda gotten something sweeter, be grateful.”

He snorts at the mere mention of him being grateful, crossing his arms against his chest. Silence falls between them after, and the oppressive weight of unspoken things makes it more unbearable than usual. Her food is forgotten for the moment, she chooses to watch him instead of looking away. Ends up feeling a bit like a competition on who is going to cave first.

Johnny – always moving, always fidgeting – is the first to budge. With an annoyed grunt, he’s gone and then he’s back, standing in front of her now. Anyone else would’ve immediately set her off, telling them to back the fuck up, but she’s used to this by now, used to him constantly invading her space. There is a stretch of time he says nothing again, eyebrow cocked like he’s waiting to see if she gets angry, tell him to leave. When she doesn’t, the subtle tension in his shoulders relaxes just a little bit.

“Look. The hotel bullshit…there was nothing you coulda changed.” Just like that, out of the fucking blue, forceful in a way that makes what is supposed to be a comforting comment not comforting at all.

There’s this deer in the headlights look on her face almost immediately that she can't hide. It’s still the last thing she wants to talk about with him, but she’s too surprised this is how he’s approaching dealing with things to protest. “What?”

“Been thinkin’ about it and I was wrong.” he shrugs, feigning indifference when she can feel the buzz of nerves she’s fairly certain isn’t her own echoing between them. “Nothin’ you coulda done, not that I could see. Woulda been two corpses instead of one if you did anything else.”

It’s not an apology, exactly, but she knows it’s supposed to be one. There’s a part of her that bristles at what feels like an insinuation she needed him to double-check her, but it’s tempered by hearing him admit he fucked up. It’s perhaps the first time he’s ever caved instead of stubbornly standing his ground until all they could do is move on. Had he noticed how wrecked he left her? Did he even care? She's never sure the answer to that question.

There’s a lot of things she could say. Sentimental isn’t her thing and it isn't his either. It's why she softens her gaze but then, with a half-hearted laugh, she points out, “Technically it _did_ end with two corpses.”

The rocker huffs and shakes his head at her, rolling his eyes. “Doesn’t count when you got better."

She’s still itching to be a little difficult. “Don’t know if I’d call this _better_ , Johnny.”

“For fuck’s sake, V, missin' the point.” He sounds a little exasperated now.

“Mm?” There is now a ghost of a smile on her face. There’s something to be said she just feels – fuck, relief, she guesses, that it feels like they can move past this. Didn’t ever think she’d see the day he’d be apologetic, but here it is. “Fine, I get what you’re saying. Not something I was _looking_ for absolution for, but.”

It’s a lie, but only somewhat. It’s more comforting than she wants to admit, hearing an outsider’s perspective. She knows he isn’t just saying that, either, as some other people might – if he felt otherwise, this wouldn’t be how he smoothed things over between them. He goes to say something but she motions for him to wait, just for a moment.

“There are about a million ways you could’ve mentioned not liking how I’m not a great shot, you know,” she continues, leveling him a look. She tosses the remaining food into a nearby rusted can before starting to walk. Doesn’t take him long to fall in step. “Coulda handled all of this better myself too, I know that, but seriously, _fuck you_ with how you get sometimes. I hear you, okay? Got used to having a certain way of being when Jackie was here and now I’m suddenly on my own. Always gonna fucking be on my own, even - I’m a fucking _pariah_ in this city now – your old buddy Rogue said it herself. It sucks, Johnny, all of this sucks, but I’m doing my best.”

V doesn't necessarily expect a specific response to all of this from him, but what he does decide to say sends a new spike of anger through her: “Are you done feeling sorry for yourself?”

Had to give it to him, he's so very good at igniting her anger. Bare her soul and this is what she gets. She feels like a fucking idiot. Not even bothering to glare at him, she starts to stalk forward, shoving through some loitering pricks in her way and ignoring their immediate deluge of slurs thrown her way.

She’s stopped a block away, a hand grasping her wrist. It’s – different when they touch. He’s solid but not and, even more disconcertingly, she swears she feels herself both _making_ the grip and being _in_ the grip at the same time. To the outside gaze, she must look insane, standing there and holding her arm in an unnatural angle, all the while giving a hard stare at a space no one is standing in.

Though she doesn’t rip away, her hackles are noticeably raised. “Fuck off.”

There’s no flinch from him, no sign of being provoked. She feels his grip tighten just a little, but in a way he’s making sure she stays in place to listen. “Listen to me for a damn second. Was _gonna_ say to find a place to practice. See if you’re not a lost cause if I can find a way to teach you."

Insult aside, the offer for help is heard loud and clear and she lifts a sharp, disbelieving eyebrow at him when she realizes what he just said. “You serious?”

“Don’t offer shit I’m not good for.” Which is a point she’ll begrudgingly agree to. He’s an asshole, but he’s rarely steered her wrong on purpose. Dropping her wrist, he gets close again, tapping her forehead instead to make his second point, “And I have a vested interest in making sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Swatting his hand away irritably, she refuses to outwardly show how interested she is in the arrangement. Not that she can hide it completely, but sometimes – especially with him – it’s the principle of the thing. Makes a show of really thinking about it.

“Fine," she decides, as if that wasn't always going to be the answer. "Maybe you’ll finally be useful to me.”

“Preem,” he drawls, sounding bored with the entire exchange now. Doesn't rise to another argument either, to his credit. “Know where to find me, V.”

He leaves her feeling a little unsteady about everything, but also hopeful she might actually gain a new skillset that'll keep them both alive a little longer.

* * *

In the end, they realize quickly that she’s especially a natural at pistols, as though all she needed the guidance of someone who knows what they're doing. It’s an easier, more palatable lie than what she suspects is happening: the erosion of the barrier between their minds is giving her muscle memory that isn’t her own. She is good at it because _he_ is and that fact only gets more true as things between them blur.

That same blur is why, far into their time together as two people sharing one body, she finds herself nostalgic when she holds his favorite pistol for the first time. The realization the phantom familiarity is there is enough to tie her stomach in knots, her dwindling days looming heavy in her mind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back again. This chapter's solely set during and after The Ballad of Buck Ravers, which delighted me when I first came across it. While Johnny only materializes a guitar in the secret dev room(tm), they manifested that ability and I am running with it and CDPR can pull it from my cold, dead hands.
> 
> :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Thank you very much for the comments. This game brought me back from a very long hiatus from writing so it's nice to see people digging what I'm putting down.

V sees Johnny before she’s even stepped off the last step of the stairway, body hunched forward as he listens intently to a guitarist she’s never seen before. It’s the sort of thing that piques her interest immediately, taking him just being there as a universal sign for her to slow to a stop, too. She makes a show of watching the man – who she knows has no idea a digital ghost is next to him – instead of staring at Johnny, though her gaze shifts just enough to the side to keep him in her peripheral vision.

“Listen to this guy,” he says as if she hadn’t been doing so already. “What do you think of his chops?”

It’s a funny thing, really. Before she had accidentally offered a rockerboy space in her head, her relationship with music hadn’t been particularly strong. She’s listened to the radio, sure, knew generally what she liked or disliked. Had a lot of memories of listening to music with Jackie, who often got her to sing along with a big, wide, infectious smile. _Jackie_ would have an actual opinion on the guy in front of them. All she can muster is a fairly simple opinion of it being _all right_ , she supposes.

He surprises her by only _partially_ being an asshole about this amateur. Then she’s surprised again when he starts to reminisce. The stronger feelings he has always show up the most to her, she’s noticed, and the wave of nostalgia he’s experiencing talking about technique and his days playing gigs washes over her too. He sours it all almost immediately by launching into a mini-manifesto about corps (it _impresses_ her how good he is swerving a lighter conversation toward his entire _thing_ ), something she more or less tunes out until an offhand, grumbling comment about bootlegs brings what he’s saying right back into focus.

“I’m gonna find those tapes,” she swears suddenly, not containing the smirk lifting on her face that she’s glad the guitarist that had no idea what audience he currently has is too busy to notice. “I’m gonna shriek like a fangirl any time you talk. Happy?”

He is _not_ happy, which makes it even funnier.

What comes out of it is a solid half-hour of going to different areas in the market and eventually conning an incredibly old fan out of a top tier vinyl after Johnny stops being a little shithead and gives her the information she needs to successfully lie. She’s grinning down at the merch put in front of her, a lot of it looking just faded enough to be from the era he had his own damn body to ruin. She takes the vinyl she’s offered for free, but she also opts to fork over the eddies for one of the shirts. Part of it is to mess with him and part of it is, if she’s being honest, a pretty preem-looking tank that’s only just barely above the size she usually wears.

They don’t talk about it after. He doesn’t seem excited to hear something from his past (and she guesses that’s fair) but she can at least tell this isn’t the kind of thing that has the potential of making him angry. His general sense of resignation about it is something she’s willing to take and run with, finding time a few days later to collect what she needs to listen to this thing.

“Doin’ all this to listen to a shitty bootleg of an ancient concert,” he comments when her intention is made clear what she’s doing in a junk shop a few days later. Barely batting an eye at his sudden presence, she continues about her business of buying the ancient-looking, overpriced record player the guy at the counter is presenting to her.

“What’s it to you?” she replies, the question almost a challenge. He audibly huffs and is gone before she bothers to finally shoot a glance his way. Shrugging to herself, she pays for it and throws it into the back of her truck to bring back to her apartment.

She doesn’t listen to it when she sets it up that night. Nearly forgets all about it, honestly, in the constant rush she finds herself in. V’s life has always been somewhat hectic, even before the threat of non-existence suddenly started looming in front of her. Now it feels a little like a waste of time to do anything _but_ pass out for a few hours because her body demands it. It’s only when that pace inevitably takes its toll that she stays in one place for longer than it takes to simply collapse in her bed.

Misty had been the one who’d insisted she give herself more time to rest, funnily enough, after making the mistake of showing up at her shop looking paler than usual. A tarot reading later and her warning through the cards – something V can’t help but buy into _a little_ bit because of the murals she’s been seeing all over town lately – convinces her a single night where she gives herself a chance to really relax can’t hurt. Part of her knows she’s just been looking for an external reason to do so, one she can blame when she inevitably feels antsy about staying still.

Doesn’t help she’s pretty sure Johnny runs on that very particular, all-encompassing drive forward as well, just feeding into her own tendencies. Even as she comes back before the sun’s even set, she feels a buzz of energy still in her, the need to turn around and maybe find something to get up to. Ignoring it, she puts the takeout she brought home down and gets settled to just hanging out.

The abandoned bootleg doesn’t even come to mind until much later, when she’s going through her clothes to find something clean to throw on and comes across the old band tee she never even tried on. A small smile lifts as she pulls it out, holding it up to get a better look at it, scanning the tour locations. Feeling a little like it’s meant to be, she sets to work changing into it.

“Seriously?”

The initial surprise of him suddenly being just there forces her to fight the immediate instinct to comically grab and throw on what she’s just discarded. She resists it solely on it feeling a little like she was giving in to him trying to make her feel uncomfortable. Dropping her hands from the clasps of her bra she’d been undoing, she stares him down as he leers right back. “What’re you bitching about now?”

After taking a drag of his cigarette, he replies, “Just thinking about the eddies you wasted on that rag you’re about to put on.”

The way he’s acting is enough of a hint he’s in a _mood_ , though she has no idea what’s setting him off and frankly, she doesn’t care, either. Ignoring the comment pointedly, she turns away and picks up the Samurai tee to pull it on regardless. As she thought, it was a little big on her, though it just makes it surprisingly more comfortable. Smoothing her hand down the coarse fabric, she turns back to him and smiles in the face of his surly attitude. “Look, it fits.”

Didn’t expect much out of him. At worst, she’s waiting for a flippant insult. Pushing off the wall, he starts to slowly circle her, something that somehow makes her feel more self-conscious than being half-naked in front of him a moment ago. He stops in front of her when he does a full circle, a sly smirk lifting. It’s about all the advanced warning she gets.

“Mm. Last time I saw that tour shirt was on a groupie that was trying to get in my pants,” he muses. He’s hovering – always fucking hovering – and V barely manages to keep her composure with the way he’s staring at her. This feels – not okay. Dangerous, even, crossing a line she’s only realizing right then is there to cross between them.

Though it takes her a moment to get there, she finally musters up a scoff, refusing to look away despite everything in her telling her to deescalate this. “You wish I was that desperate.”

“Hey, you said you wanted to be a fangirl. Exact fucking wording,” he points out, still lingering, that fucking shit-eating smile never wavering. “Certain expectations come with that. Sendin’ me mixed messages.”

Before she can respond, he vanishes from view, returning a few seconds later on her bed nearby, legs dangling lazily over the edge as he leans back on his hands. Lounging instead of…anything more suggestive, she notes gratefully. There’s a blush that’s begun to creep up and she uses his decision to be somewhere that _isn’_ t right in her face to find a way to angle herself so her back is to him. Giving him any further satisfaction over this particular stunt is the last thing she wants to do right now.

Her focus zeroes in on getting the record player going, putting aside the entire interaction as Johnny trying to mess with her for buying these things in the first place. Mission fucking accomplished, she supposes, but she bounces back soon enough as she relearns how to prep the vinyl to be played. Been forever since she had a reason to have one of these on hand, but as she hears the first clean, crisp notes of something not funneled through whatever the fuck the radio does to music, she can’t help but wonder why it’s taken her so long. Even with the audience participation involved on this record, it’s better quality by leagues.

Swears she feels it stir something almost immediately in her, too, as though if she reaches into the recesses of their collective mind, she can conjure a memory of this night. The feeling lingers as she turns the volume up a bit and while she’s curious what she might find, she doesn’t try to seek out its origin. Had more than enough of _that_ when she’d been stuck in his memories when the chip was bringing her back from the brink.

When everything is set up, she finally turns to look at the last place he’d been to find him still there, watching what she’s doing, expression unreadable but seemingly more settled. With him, any positive shift in mood is a welcome one. After grabbing a nearby unopened bottle of alcohol, she sways along with the music to where he’s sitting, stopping to stand in front of him. She has half a mind to tell him to not sit on her bed, but she decides to approach this in a friendlier way so as to not set things off again.

“Move over,” she requests. Knows full well he’s solid to her and is currently taking up way more than half her bed the way he’s sprawled himself. Though he doesn’t respond at first, within a few seconds he’s shifting himself to the side, giving her the space she needs to plop down next to him.

“Kinda pathetic, drinking alone,” he says as he relaxes again, always the judgmental asshole.

“For the record? I -” V begins, then takes a swig for dramatic effect before she continues. “- am literally never alone now. Ever. Real party the two of us make. Besides, I’m supposed to be _relaxing_. Your _everything’s_ got my chakras messed up. And you’re welcome for sharing since I know you end up feeling this too.”

He is the picture of unimpressed at the mere suggestion of him thanking her.

“Your _chakras_ got nothin’ to do with you and everything to do with me, sure,” he deadpans, though he’s also not disagreeing he’s playing some part in this thing she knows he doesn’t believe in. “And I’d thank you more if you stopped drinking vodka. For fuck's sake, V, it's disgusting.”

“First thing in grabbing range,” she shrugs, taking another swing (they both grimace at the burn, first V, then Johnny) and then leans back too. Nearby, she hears a pause in the music and some banter between band and crowd before the next song in the set recorded on the vinyl starts to play, the beat frantic and louder than the first. The muffled yells of the crowd around whoever had made the vinyl almost makes her feel like she’s there. “Be nice and maybe I’ll switch to tequila when I feel like getting up.”

“What does me ‘being nice’ look like to you?”

She doesn’t expect this to be a difficult concept for him but when she looks over, he seems genuine, or at least curious. She bites back an insult that nearly flies out of her – tempting as it might be to say, because she shouldn’t have to _teach him_ how to have a normal conversation - she goes silent for a moment, considering the question. “How about this - I want to hear more about your time with the band. And no bullshit.”

He squints at her, “Why?”

Letting out a huff of amusement she can’t mask, she just shakes her head. “Christ, why do you think? ‘Cause I want to know, that’s why. I’m stuck with you and sometimes it feels like all I know is all the shit that pisses you off.”

“All you need to know.”

“ _Maybe_ , but I still wanna hear more anyway,” she insists, not letting him make her feel like she’s crazy to want to understand the person she is stuck with every second of her life now a little more. It’s only recognizing this might be painful for him that she relents, but only a little. “You know what? Whatever, not gonna force you. But for all the shit you talked about these bootlegs, it’s way better than the concert I experienced. Think I understand what you meant about the busker now.”

The observation hangs between them. For a moment, V thinks _she_ may have just overstepped a boundary herself, having felt along with him just how all-consuming the emptiness he'd been feeling during that concert she experienced. Bracing herself for a blow up, she’s a little surprised when he eventually just sighs.

“One story –“ he begins.

She’s quick to shoot out an amendment. “A good one.”

“One good story,” he accepts, his words clipped with annoyance. “But only if you switch off to something better now. I’m not fucking dealing with the taste of cheap vodka in my mouth all night.”

The ask is a simple one and a genuine smile spreads on her face as she scoots off the bed, taking the bottle with her to put it down by her computer. Makes a show of even rinsing her mouth out at her sink before grabbing the tequila she’s squirreled away ever since she realized his tastes. It’s not her favorite and she’ll feel awful the next morning, but him relenting is a rare enough event to make it worth it. When she sits, it’s not beside him, but against the opposite side of her bed. She extends her legs out so they’re straight across, just behind where he’s sitting. Tipping the bottle in his direction to give him a small salute, she takes a good, solid swig of the drink.

She isn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing even she can see this is a better option than the swill she’d been drinking prior.

“Better, princess?” she teases, lifting a brow. “Up to your very particular standards?”

“Hmph. Not even fucking close, but better than nothing.”

She ignores the grumbling because she’s sure as fuck not going to be spending the exorbitant price tag she knows his very particular tequila has. By the time she’s got a buzz going, it eventually starts to not matter even to him. Gets a _few_ sordid tales instead of just one out of him once she starts drinking enough to loosen them both up. There’d been a stray thought initially of whether or not _his_ ability to drink heavy amounts of alcohol would override her far weaker ability, but it turns out they’re both stuck with her body’s constitution for now. Three drinks in and she’s feeling pleasantly floaty and he’s about as relaxed as she thinks she’s ever seen him.

“You’re bullshitting me,” she accuses him as he finishes his third story. Drunk or not, she’s spotting each one is getting more and more grandiose, more flavored with details that seem to be there to bulk up the story. He’s too good at sounding convincing is the problem, and even her accusation doesn’t have the bite of surety to it.

“Fuck you, it’s true,” he insists, digging in his proverbial heels. “Could probably fucking check with this shit we’re dealing with.”

Hearing him bring up the idea of her rooting around in his head is a little surprising, and she feels like she’s just been given explicit permission if she wants to. Wonders if it’s as easy as reaching out with her own mind to mix with his. The sober version of her has always viewed it to be playing with fire. The drunker version of her is tempted, but resists for the moment.

“Fuck,” she draws the word out, shaking her head. “Dunno how you didn’t get arrested way before you ended up getting stuck in the chip sometimes.”

He shoots her a lazy sort of smirk. “Not ‘bout to get taken down by some gonk cops that barely know how to aim. Nance was furious at us for a good month after for pushing our luck, but they were all used to our shit by then.”

There’s a moment she feels a pang of something melancholy as the words settle between them, though she sees no shift in his outward demeanor at all. Taking the final swig of the last of her approved of alcohol, she considers asking about it. Even as drunk as she is, she recognizes a primed land mine too dangerous to try to disarm when she sees one. Instead, she lets things fall into a companionable silence for a while and listens to what she knows is one of the final songs played on the record. They’ve gone through it at least three times by that point.

“I wonder if I could play guitar if I tried now?” she idly asks when the silence becomes too much, turning the subject away and onto something lighter. She lifts her hands and attempts to mime something approaching appropriate for what’s currently playing. She feels Johnny’s eyes on her, probably disapproving of every second of what she’s doing. There’s no indication he moves – his body doesn’t have any weight to it, after all – so she doesn't notice until she looks up that he's turned so he's across from her instead of dangling his legs off the bed.

“You’d need me for that, kid.”

Much as she hates to admit it, she recognizes the truth in it. What she can somewhat feel is echoes of a talent that's not hers and it’s probably impossible to replicate anything with just that. Exactly one thing can be done about it, and she stares at him expectantly. “Then show me.”

It’s the last thing he's expecting her to request from him if the immediate bafflement on his face says anything. “ _What_?”

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she can hear Vik warning her not to give him control. Dismissing the memory, she pushes forward, stubbornly set in this insane idea now that she’s put it out there. “You and I both know what you can do.”

“...Know you don’t like it, V.”

There’s this hesitancy he’s displaying that she doesn’t ever remember seeing on him before. The idea he hadn’t been taking over her body because of her _feelings_ about it hadn’t crossed her mind, but she softens a little in response to the unexpected kindness. If she'd had any worries whatsoever, they're gone, at least for now.

“Only when you’re doing it to do shit like slamming my head into a window,” she shrugs, deciding not to make a big deal out of it. Frankly, she’s worried it might ruin whatever moment that’s happening between them. “So come on, permission granted.”

Johnny studies her face before seeming to settle on playing along. All at once, he's suddenly manifests a guitar in his hands and she experiences pure loss of control as she start to follow his gestures like a puppet would follow a marionette, first lifting her hands up to position them correctly, then having her fingers make motions that certainly look like she’s appropriately strumming along to the song on the record. Some part of V knows she should be terrified of how easy it is for Johnny to assume control, not even sure now if it's only because the alcohol has her walls lowered. It's the lack of malice in the action paired with his earlier revelation that makes this all less threatening and closer to – if they were two normal people and not fused together – someone putting their hands over hers to guide them along. It’s disconcerting, but somehow not in a bad way.

Without thinking, she starts to hum along to the song softly as her fingers pluck at invisible strings, pitched perfectly to the music. A strange sense of harmony settles over her (over them both, perhaps), one that she doesn’t understand until she realizes this might be the first time she’s actively stopped trying to push his influence away. There’s no direct overlap the way they are right now – it’s closer to a peaceful moment of coexistence, separate but together all at once.

Feels a little like she’s been sent back before this all started too, hanging out with Jackie, messing around like the two chooms they were. It’s a truce that ends when the song does, breaking their focus on playing and putting it back on each other. Without even needing to assert control she feels his presence in her mind shrink away. She wiggles them a little almost reflexively to make sure it’s back to normal and lifts her gaze to find his is already sharp on her, the guitar gone.

There’s a subtle fluttering in her stomach she steadfastly ignores.

“I guess that's a little more than I could have handled myself,” she allows, well aware she could never repeat what he’d done on her own. “Almost wish I had an actual guitar now.”

Practically gives him an opening to be a naysayer, unfortunately. “Would be different with a guitar. Hands’re too small, would have to compensate. I could manage because I’m that fucking good, but what a pain in the ass.”

V isn’t sure if she’s more annoyed at the casual bragging or him acting like it’s her fault she isn’t built like him. Leaning forward a little, she lifts a hand, waiting patiently. He cocks a brow at her, questioningly, before seemingly realizes what she’s looking for him to do. With a roll of his eyes, he mimics the motion, pressing his hand up against hers to demonstrate his point.

Two realizations come out because of this decision she’s made on a whim.

The first is she realizes he is completely correct, her fingers are much shorter than his, which she can imagine _would_ be problematic for him. The second and more pressing realization comes quickly after when she fully digests what she’s doing. It's a little like pushing against a solid surface – no warmth, no feel of skin. She recognizes it as a hand all the same regardless, like her mind is working overtime to make sense of all of this. Could link her fingers with his like any other hand, if she wants to.

Sort of does, actually -

Sucking in a breath when she recognizes where her mind is wandering, she pulls away as if burned, fingers curling in on themselves defensively. There’s a flush to her cheeks for the second time that night that she’ll blame the alcohol on up and down if pressed, though the way he’s watching her makes her feel like he’s sensing something she doesn’t want him to and it's not a lie that's going to cut it. It’s enough to get her up on unsteady legs, using the need to tend to the record player as an excuse to remove herself from the situation immediately.

She’s never regretted drinking more than this very moment.

“Guess you’re just gonna have to settle,” she says over her shoulder, already starting to feel like her head is clearing after she puts the distance between them. “Or find a way to get out of mine. Prefer the second option, if you weren’t keepin’ up.”

Feels more morbid than usual, casually chatting about the situation at hand. It hangs over her head more than usual too, just daring her to dwell on it longer. V’s not nearly drunk enough to start ruminating and buries it almost as quickly as she did with whatever had just happened a moment before. Sleeving the record and putting it aside, she turns and half expects him not to be there with the lack of any response. Instead, he’s right where she left him, cigarette perched between his lips. There’s only a brief moment of hesitance before she puts the bootleg sleeve aside and closes the distance between them again. He tilts his head up to look at her.

“Gonna sleep,” she tells him, knowing he must feel the bone-weary exhaustion that’s finally started to take hold on her senses too. That sleep is an escape from her own head right now is a bonus she's very happily going to accept. “You planning on sitting there all night?”

“What if I say yes?”

As much as it reads as him being difficult, she swears there’s some underlying challenge in his tone she isn’t sure what to do with. She’s too tired for this shit, too tipsy, and instead of trying to figure it (figure _him_ ) out, she settles on shooting him a long-suffering, unamused look. Stepping to the side of him, she climbs into bed, slotting herself into the space he currently isn’t taking up with her back to him.

“Do whatever you want, Johnny,” she replies as she buries her face into her pillow before she can see his reaction. Surprises herself, just a little, when she realizes she simply just trusts him enough now to not feel uncomfortable when she feels him decide to linger, at least for a little while. Swears that, on the very edge of sleep, she feels the weight she recognizes as his hand affectionately run a hand down her side before giving her a small pat. Thinks she hears him say _goodnight_ , maybe, in the last moments of consciousness before sleep finally takes her.

(In the morning, alone and hungover with a hazy memory, she wonders if the last part had been a dream. She never asks and he never brings it up. It’s too easy for her to assume it's for the best she doesn't know for sure.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hello! You know those like, three beginning quests that make up the first arc of Panam's stuff? That's this chapter's focus, in a nutshell. If you guys are curious, this is the run I did Panam - Takemura - Judy (which I say is the best way to do the three main quests, LOL).
> 
> Thanks again for all the kind kudos, comments, subs, bookmarks, and general reads. I feel like I've gotten immensely lucky to find a solid fandom to hang out in (seriously, the talent is out of this world in our little corner) and I'm just glad to be here making content.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

When Rogue sends V off to go meet some random, potentially hostile contact of hers to figure a way to get to Hellman, she’s not expecting much. It’s not that she doesn’t _trust_ Rogue’s choices, but she knows how people can get when they’re feeling particularly jilted. While V hadn’t had a hand in whatever went down between them, her being attached to her is likely enough to put her on a shit list. Still, she’s low on options, so she opts into hoping a decent attitude might disarm her enough to make her _amenable_ at least. 

And yeah, Panam starts their meeting looking like she’s ready to be given literally any reason to tell her to fuck off. A mixture of some kowtowing to what she finds out she needs first and a bit of V’s natural charm is enough to get her to at least shake on a deal – she gets Panam’s things, V gets her corpo asshole. Admittedly, that means she's going to need to assume the nomad can put together a plan, but with no other avenues and time running out, she hopes the things she’s heard about her type are right.

Johnny seems antsy at the idea, but for once isn’t saying much about it. She takes it as a good sign – or maybe they just both know they’re fucked if this doesn’t work out.

In the end, it all turns out – well, pretty good, actually. It feels like it’s been ages since she’s been around anyone but the constant presence in her mind and the occasional calls from fixers. Panam is easy to relax around when she starts to lower her guard, quick-witted and resourceful. When she gets the full story, V even finds herself sympathizing with her itch to get revenge on the asshole who screwed her over, even though cars aren’t exactly her thing.  It’s a sympathy that gains Panam further help later on when she reveals getting the truck hadn’t been the only thing she needed from her. Besides, she reasons, If it settles all of this in her head, there’s a good chance she’ll work better and faster. There’s time to spare to do everything.

(Also, if she’s being honest, storming anything with her sounds like it could be _exciting_.)

The way Panam lights up when she simply asks for more information to be prepared for what’s to come is when she realizes she is going to be a _problem_. V isn’t blind to her being nice to look at, but there’s a very particular kind of fire in her that’s getting hard to ignore. The moment she recognizes the emotion making itself known, she suddenly finds the expansive desert around them _incredibly_ interesting as she falls silent the rest of the drive over.

Turns out, the base is exactly the kind of distraction she needs. Almost forgot the feeling of having back-up that is _actual_ back-up and not someone who sometimes seems to only exist to run his mouth. In a way, how easily she falls into a partnership with her both surprises her and doesn’t. Jackie and she had been similar in that way – something just clicks and works. They leave Nash and his gang in a heap of broken bodies, only a few left alive enough to be clutching their heads in agony. A job well done, all and all.

It’s late when she accompanies Panam on her drop-off. Acts like her muscle, just in case. It doesn’t seem like she needs it, but when she’s done, she still turns and shoots her a small, grateful look. As they go up the stairs after offering V a round of drinks, V grimaces as she’s hit by the familiar spike of pain that sends her into a small coughing fit that Panam doesn't see only because she's gone ahead. Though she pulls herself together rather quickly, she feels a lingering headache remains just to be annoying. Still, she plays it cool – or as cool as she’s able to, at least. It feels painfully obvious she’s rusty at this, so even when she sees a sudden opening to be forward when Panam suggests they rent rooms, there’s a long beat of hesitation before she decides, well, _fuck it_.

“Maybe only one room?”

Panam doesn’t react positively or negatively to the question. When she speaks, V understands why. “Mhm. Noah has two twin beds in every room. We’ll save some money.”

Any bit of confidence she has deflates away in an instant. There’s a passing idea to press and _explain_ but she can’t bring herself to completely get rejected. Taking a long swig of her drink, she smiles weakly at her and just _agrees_. Lets her go on ahead to the room, promising she’d be there after she finishes up. V waits until she’s completely gone to let her head thump onto her arm she has resting on the bar.

Feels like an idiot too, because she’s well aware she had an audience to her crash and burn. A part of her hopes Johnny will _leave it_ but she knows better. Isn’t surprised in the least when she suddenly sees him glitch into existence on the barstool Panam had just been sitting on.

“Can’t say I blame you.”

She sighs loudly and dramatically, even though it makes the bartender cast a glance her way. “What?”

“Panam. I get it. Girl like that’s something different,” he continues, completely ignoring her reaction to him talking about it. “Gotta say, not a bad attempt at getting in her pants. Too bad she shot you down.”

_Fucking hell_. “Go _away_ , Johnny.”

“What? I’m serious,” he insists, holding his hands up briefly in a cease-fire sort of gesture. He drops them after, his tone taking on an uninterested inflection as he remarks, “Didn’t know that was your thing, but.”

She cannot believe she is entertaining the idea of having this conversation. He’s not being overtly mean, though, and she has to admit, she kind of needs a little bit of time to mope before putting herself together. It’d be a little less depressing if she isn’t alone doing it. “…Don’t care what people are, personally. Point of view she doesn’t share, apparently – or she’s not interested in me.”

“You ask me, she did you a favor,” he shrugs, drumming his fingers idly against the bar. “Way I see it, you either can’t do anything about it or she’s got shitty taste. Don’t need to get strung along now either way.”

She turns her head enough so she can properly stare at him while also not looking like she’s doing anything of the sort, an eyebrow quirking up. “Was that – that sounded suspiciously like a compliment.”

“Just trying to get you to stop bombarding me with your _feelings_ by pointing out the _obvious_ ,” he grumbles, seemingly not noticing that the compliment is still there, no matter what insult he's trying to wrap around it. “You’re not just driving yourself crazy anymore, you know. Fuck, this is _exactly_ why I avoided this kind of problem.”

It’s a defensive response that is accompanied by a very noticeable flare of an emotion she can’t unpack fast enough before it’s gone. Decides to not even try, because fuck, she’s still not feeling her best and it sounds like she’s going to have a long night. Lifting herself from her arm, she reaches out to grab her beer bottle so she can drain it and stand.

“With how often you drive me crazy with all of your shit, I’d say we’re even. Deal with it,” she shoots back in passing, though there’s no real bite to the words. Nodding toward the barkeep, she starts to head out toward the shared room and isn’t surprised when Johnny doesn’t follow. She’s unsure if he’s using her leaving as a way to sidestep whatever conversation could’ve continued or what, but she’s fine whatever the motive.

(She apparently dreams the little when she falls asleep a little while later. About what, she doesn’t know, but she takes her yelling being loud enough to wake Panam up to be a bad sign.)

Panam is quick, as it turns out. She churns out a multi-step plan faster than V ever expected out of her, presenting it to her with this gleam in her eyes that makes her feel like she’s excited to come along. Thank fucking goodness for that, because she certainly can’t see herself figuring out how to make this a one-woman job. With things in place, they take no time getting on the road to get things started. 

V doesn’t realize her chip is going to be a problem until Panam suddenly springs a diagnostic check on her a little while later. Before she can say or do anything, she sees the warning of it happening and knows exactly what’s about to occur. Sure enough, the nomad’s eyebrows knit in confusion and mild worry at her monitor and she just knows it’s picking up errors because of the engram.

...The engram who finds the entire situation amusing. The first time Johnny shows up since she’s been awake and it’s to smirk away as she tries desperately to find a way to explain why she isn’t _appropriately_ concerned about the news that she has something jacked into her that is obviously tainted. In the end, while shooting him a look, she replies, “It’s not a virus. It’s just a little _malware_. You get used to it eventually.”

She relishes the sour look Johnny shoots her as he replies with a sharp, “Screw you.”

He remains anyway, lounging and observing lazily as V goes through the motions of calibrations. There’s a buzz of energy between all three of them once they start heading toward their target and she sees Johnny glancing between the two of them out of the corner of her eye, his interest piqued.

“Sabotage a corpo power station, jump a corpo transport, kidnap a corpo suit…” he trails off and she can see he’s practically itching to give his opinion.

“This a plug for the word corpo or do you have a point?” she asks, though her gaze remains on the window in front of her. She won’t have Panam seeing her acting weird on top of that check she just noticed was off, doesn't want to have to sidestep questions anymore.

He’s got this edge of smug satisfaction in his voice that makes her realize she’s just prompted him exactly the way he wanted her to. “Know what? You’re starting to remind me of me…fifty years back.”

Something about the observation makes her freeze and she only vaguely hears him making jokes about his cock. Up until then, she hadn’t really studied her emotions going into this, why she felt excited to be part of something like this. It’s more than a means to an end to her and she knows it, it’s a message. Whose message is it? Was it hers? Was this him bleeding through? She’s not sure if she’ll ever be able to tell because, by all rights, this may be just a situation of their emotions perfectly aligning.

Arasaka ruined her life. Surely that’s enough reason to feel the way she does, right? She didn’t come up with this plan, it’s one that’s simply the best of the bunch. That it involves this kind of destruction is an added cherry on top anyone would enjoy. It’s a completely sound reason for her to be okay with this, and with that realization, she feels herself relax just a little bit.

When she focuses on what Johnny's saying again, it's just in time for her to hear he lets slip a quiet, thoughtful observation, “Hm. Maybe we _can_ get along.”

It’s funny, she never thought she’d see the day _he’d_ offer any kind of olive branch. It wasn’t so long ago she woke up to him trying to kill her and now, even in the face of what they both know is going to be a hell of a fireworks show, he seems more mellow than she’d expect him to be. Makes her start wondering something herself.

“Could be something to that, I suppose,” she allows, looking over just enough to be able to see him. “What happened to us, it must’ve had some effect.”

It’s not the point Johnny is trying to make, though, so he counters with, “You’re more like me than you think. You’ll see.”

He's probably uncomfortably right in some respects. If you’d asked her when they first met if she ever thought she’d have anything in common with the terrorist in her head, she would’ve balked at the very idea. She’s gotten to know him more, gotten to notice how often they seem to work well together when it matters.

“But it goes both ways,” she presses on, looking now out toward the horizon again. “Maybe you’re becoming more like me.”

V hears the scoff she knows is coming. “Nah, no way.”

She thinks about pushing it but lets it go, at least for now. Still has a knowing smirk she makes sure he sees, just to make it clear she's not being quiet because he won the argument.

After the conversation dies between them, her attention goes right back on the task at hand. The difference between working with T-Bug and working with Panam is night and day – restrained, smart planning versus the chaos they’re embarking on. When they finally get through the initial guards, Panam floors it and slams into the gates that are the last barrier between them and where they need to be. The sound of metal bending and breaking all around them is deafening but she doesn’t slow down until she’s nearly completely inside the room. Adrenaline surges through V as she throws the door open, her focus solely on the computer terminals she needs to get to for the sparks to start flying. What she isn’t ready for is the discharge that overheating the terminals seem to emit as she goes to each one, sending a burst of energy right back at her. The pain after the first terminal nearly makes her retch, her senses spinning in a way she’s never dealt with before. She grits her teeth and pushes through to her next target, only to have the pain flare up even worse than before.

She thinks she hears Panam ask her what’s happening, probably hearing the cry of agony V can’t bite back. The thing is – _the thing is_ – she knows she can’t stop. Knows that this is fucking it, they need to finish this, or she’s fucking dead either way. There’s no preparation for the last wave, so she simply steels herself and tries not to blackout. It takes an incredible amount to will herself to breathe as she stumbles to one knee in the aftermath, but it’s not enough to put her down for the count. Her head clears enough after giving herself a few moments that she can stumble back to the truck, Panam none-the-wiser about how bad she is when she sinks into the passenger seat.

Everything hurts and it's a struggle to keep the facade of everything being fine up. She only barely feels like she can breathe a little more when she sees Johnny return where he’d been earlier. To V’s surprise, he’s looking haggard and winded, his teeth grit in a grimace.

“V, get the fuck out of before something happens to the chip,” he snaps roughly and she turns to glare at him.

“Thanks for the tip,” she deadpans, not in the mood. “Y’know, I was just about to set up a picnic, maybe lay out, work on my base tan –“

“I mean it,” he cuts her off and she’s suddenly noticing his form flickering far more than she’s used to seeing. “Watch out, the next one migh –“

It’s like watching a malfunctioning holo as he fades in and out, though he’s visible enough for her to see him curl into himself, as if in pain. Though she doesn’t feel whatever he’s reacting to, she’s practically flooded with a deluge of fear, dread, and panic she’s sure isn’t just coming from her seeing him finally disappear completely.

“Johnny?” she calls out, feeling her heart leap into her throat. Almost forgets to not yell it out loud when he doesn’t respond to her first attempt to get him to come back. “Johnny?!”

It’s the longest couple of seconds of her life before he rematerializes swearing, gripping the back of Panam’s seat so hard that she’s sure he’d be making dents in it if he could. Pulling off his shades and flopping back into the seat, he looks momentarily stunned and more than a little freaked out.

“Okay, I’m fine,” Johnny says breathlessly, sounding more unsteady than she thinks she has ever heard him in all the time they’ve known each other. “It’s – it’s okay, I’m fine – yeah -“

If she hadn’t already been sure the panic she'd been feeling had been coming from him, she certainly is now as she watches him trying to convince _himself_ he’s alright more than he’s trying to convince V. She wants to reach out to him instinctively as it dawns on her how scared he’d just been, to do – fuck, she didn’t know, something, but his vulnerable look suddenly hardens as he looks directly at her.

“Just – _delta the fuck out_ ,” he demands, lashing out as if she’d _meant_ for any of this to happen. She’s about to respond when Panam speaks up and he’s gone long before she can continue the conversation they'd been having. Then things somehow manage to go from bad to worse and Johnny's status has to take a backburner for the moment.

The thing about working with people is there’s always the possibility they’ll die. Their taking down Hellman’s ride starts an unexpected chain reaction that leaves bodies in its wake that should have never been in harm’s way. V feels sick as she stands among the dead Aldecaldos, barely able to look Panam in the face. She isn’t openly blaming her for this mess and she’s glad at least for that because she’s certainly blaming herself right now. Hard not to feel cursed, even if that’s probably an overreaction.

At least she isn’t feeling any lingering effects of what happened earlier, no sign of relic fuckery getting in the way of what she needs to do. One look at Panam is enough to make V sure she's too furious to think straight, nevermind make sound decisions. If the two of them are ever going to make it through this, she's going to have to be the level-headed one of the two of them. It's a far ride to where they holed up, but not far enough for them not to be able to give chase. With a perfect perch to snipe from, Panam doesn't put up a fuss at the idea of her staying behind to snipe from afar while V heads in.

The guards with Hellman don’t know what shit they’ve stepped in. It doesn’t take long before the lot of them begin to suffer some pretty grievous injuries from bullets shot from afar. V’s never worked with someone who had significant sniper skills, but it ends up complimenting her own well in ways she doesn't expect. Panam seems to know exactly how to shake them out of their hiding spots, giving V easy groups to hack into. At the end of it all is Hellman, who regards her with a terrified look when she steps inside, aiming and shooting the one in the room with him in the head before they even have a chance to whip around. It’s only then that Johnny gets involved again, his usual veneer of calm hostility firmly back in place when she spots him.

It’s strange to find comfort in that, but it’s been a weird goddamn day.

He starts to suggest she knock him out, but she’s practically halfway to doing it before he even starts to talk, cracking the butt of her pistol into the side of his head. Hellman crumples instantly, giving V the chance to slow down long enough to update Takemura and find, upon bringing him outside, that the cavalry has arrived. The tension between Panam and her family is thick even viewing it from the outside looking in, and though V tries to help her smooth things over, she’s well aware this isn’t her business. Aware she's probably only going to make shit worse, which is the last thing she wants to happen.

A part of her is really feeling like she likely won’t see Panam again after all the problems she’s somewhat caused, and V finds herself emotionally pulling away already to blunt the disappointment later. It’ll be something she’ll surely ruminate on later but for the moment, she’s got an asshole to wake up and force some answers out of. They go their separate ways and V brings the still unconscious body of her captive to a place she can have a private talk to him. Once she's inside, she doesn't take more than a few minutes before she has him set up and is slapping him awake. Still out of it, Hellman gets a few questions out before she's joined by her brain's other half. Johnny says nothing when he comes into view, just sits down and _observes_. His presence is the first time she feels herself falter. Even if they aren’t completely synced up sometimes, she can tell he’s expecting the worst just by looking at him– not just from Hellman, she suspects, but from V herself. No matter how many times she can reassure him Hellman – and by extension Arasaka – are the last people she wants to make deals with, she knows he won’t believe it until he sees it.

So she _lets_ him see it. For all the looming and scowling he’s doing, his presence helps center her, keeps her on her toes in the right way. Hellman openly regards her as an idiot, which raises her hackles pretty quickly, and that only gets worse after he does his test. Instead of giving her a straight answer about her condition, he starts dancing around it by asking how she and Johnny _work_. Johnny had pointedly mentioned the inevitability of her being looked at like a guinea pig by him and she’s starting to feel like the guy's not even trying to hide it any longer.

“I can see him and talk to him,” she insists in the face of the prodding about how she’s dealing with him existing alongside her own consciousness. Hellman levels a pitying look that she immediately wants to punch.

“You’re not _talking_ , but yes, I understand what you mean,” he corrects as if he fucking knows a thing about what’s happening with her – with _them_. He’d said it himself that there are only so many things he can know for sure about what’s happening to her. “Have you noticed the construct’s influence on your decision making?”

She feels a little shame as her mind instantly returns to their talk in the car when he’d been gleeful at the turn of explosive events her night with Panam had become. She’s not going to deny that sometimes she thinks his emotions make hers stronger, but there’s a world of difference between that and her being _made_ to do something. She can even see Johnny pacing and grumbling again, looking pissed at the very insinuation. She sits forward and gives the corpo asshole a hard look.

“When it comes to _my_ decisions,” she begins, making sure to emphasize her words so there’s no doubt in her conviction. “Johnny really is just a voice in my head. Maybe he has a different opinion, but he can’t make me do anything.”

“Agreed, one hundred percent. You are one fucking stubborn host,” he pipes up, and fuck him, she’s trying to be serious and the outburst forces her to pause long enough to suppress a smirk. Her eyes do dart up briefly to him to give him a knowing look, at least, before her attention returns to Hellman trying to bullshit his way into making her believe things work the way he thinks they do.

“What do you mean?” she prompts when he mentions there being a scale the two of them are on, at this point trying to simply gain information. She can see it's ruffling Johnny’s feathers she’s even entertaining him, but she’s _trying_ to be smart about this and fish for more concrete information.

Hellman needs very little prodding to start giving his opinion.

“You will start doing things that were once unthinkable, at least to your old self,” he explains and for the second time, the night before comes to mind. She had no hand in planning all of that though, she reminds herself, none at all. “And you know exactly who he was. A fanatic. A terrorist. A suicide bomber.”

“Well fuck me,” Johnny speaks up sharply, and she feels his anger ripple through her now, too. “Who’s trying to mess with your head now?”

For all of Hellman’s insistence, she's sure she can easily sense where his emotions end and her immediate inclination to defend him starts. She’s officially sick of this guy too, can spot him actively trying to get her doubting to try to twist her to trust him. Even if she believed that was all Johnny was, she’s certainly not going to switch allegiances to someone like _him_.

“At least Johnny never whored himself out like you,” she spits out, leveling a glare toward him. He stares back, unimpressed.

“Are you defending him? Or is that Johnny speaking now?” he poses, pressing harder to get her to question herself. Only serves to piss her off more. “Oh, let me guess – he already tried to take over your body? You know, for a little while?”

If he had been getting in her head at all, it’s dispelled in that moment. Johnny was all of the above in what he said, she isn’t going to deny that. There’s a heap of other negative traits she could add to the list herself after what feels like endless exposure to his whole _thing_. The one thing he isn’t is the kind of person she has to fear would hijack her without her permission. Her response is swift, confident, and simple: “No.”

“Would you, though?” Johnny muses jokingly, peering at her from beside Hellman. “Could be fun.”

Even Johnny being an irreverent fucking asshole just proves her point, because that’s the thing, isn’t it? Without a second thought, he frames it as seeking _consent_. Doesn’t stop her from shooting him a near murderous look because she’s _trying_ to not look insane glancing off to the side at him over and over and seems hell-bent on making that difficult. “Johnny –“

“Kidding,” he amends immediately, cigarette smoke curling around him as he backs off and sits. He looks distastefully at Hellman then, adding, “But watch out – suit’s getting ready to talk your head off.”

Yeah, she’s getting that too. The line of questioning is just going to go right into more assumptions versus the facts she needs. Cutting him off before he can continue to extrapolate, she instead twists things to at least get something useful. He shows his hand pretty swiftly afterward when he owns up to being more interested in the data from their pairing than anything else. Something about listening to him talk about her like it’s only a matter of time before she dies makes her stomach twist, but at the very least he hands over the blueprint she’s looking for.

She has no idea what she’s looking at when she reviews it. Vik – maybe he’d understand, she doesn’t know. It all feels a bust at best by the time she moves to let Takemura take over, a feeling that isn’t helped by the relic immediately beginning to glitch as she stands to leave. At first, it doesn’t seem like it’s going to be any worse than what she’s used to, but as she steps outside into the cool desert night and the door closes behind her, everything gets worse.

It feels a little bit like the malfunction she’d gone through where Johnny disappeared. He doesn’t seem too bothered by it this time, even as she cries out and stumbles forward, the world spinning. Him asking what’s wrong sounds muffled, far away, and she barely manages to croak out, “Agh – dunno, not sure –“

The solid surface of the box she slowly sits down on helps a little bit. Cradling her head in her hands and trying valiantly not to cry (it hurts, it hurts so much -), she barely notices Johnny pacing in front of her, agitated, asking her about her plans as if she can fucking think right now. The sound of him slamming something down makes her fast-beating heart go into her throat and she looks up just in time to see him sitting down on a stool so he’s eye level with her, hunching forward.

“It’s going too slow,” he complains in an almost accusing way, sounding frustrated. “Gonna decomish before we learn how to rip the chip out.”

Every time V feels like she’s figured him out, he finds a way to ruin it. She’d been comfortable in assuming she’s a means to an end no matter how she might feel about him and now –

Now it feels like something is _changing_.

“Wanted me dead, said so yourself,” she counters, feeling almost defensive in the face of it. There’d been safety in the assumption, as though it kept a constant barrier between the two of them for her own emotional sanity.

“Made it pretty clear since that I changed my mind,” he replies, too fucking calm for what he’s saying. He pulls his shades off, presumably so she can see he means every bit of what he adds, empathetically, “Want you to live now.”

Head still pounding, she almost resents his horrible timing with this. Resents, too, that she has a feeling it’s coming out specifically _because_ she’s at such a low point and she needs to hear it. Every bit of this reads that he’s worried about her in a way he isn’t hiding, her ever-dwindling timer continuing to march on right in front of them. Not sure what to say to any of it, she can only think of a single thing to ask. “What the hell do you want from me?”

She’s got a spread of leads she knows he’s not happy with and she’s officially done dancing around the subject of what he’s been thinking - _if anything_. Johnny seems to study her after the question before lighting up a cigarette. Though she prepares for him to shut down, close off, he starts to slowly explain what he’s been putting together without V even realizing it. At first, V barely holds back an incredulous laugh when he sounds like he’s suggesting she simply go along with another terrorism plot just so he can bury the centuries-old grudge he’s carrying. He ignores her immediate dumbfounded reaction and presses the issue until she realizes he’s weaved helping her into his plan to get even. It’s the last part that makes her the most willing to at least hear him out, ask questions, especially when something (some _place_ , she comes to find out) called Mikoshi comes into the picture.

All roads lead there, he insists, though V is seeing a major problem with what he’s presented here so far.

“And uh, how you plan to smash Arasaka this time?” she asks, recognizing all of this hinges on the two of them _also_ pulling off an attack on a major corporation. “Got another nuke tucked away?”

Something in his demeanor shifts, but she isn’t sure why. “This time bomb’s name is Alt Cunningham.”

“I’m s’posed to know who that is?”

“Not yet,” he replies, going right back to being vague like he usually is. “But you will once we find what we need.”

She can certainly recognize the proverbial door slamming in her face for now. _Apparently_ the plan is to make what he wants happen to happen while also being given the least amount of information possible until she _needs_ to know. She’d be angrier if it wasn’t the same way with basically _all_ her viable avenues and at least with Johnny, she feels it’s a little more confident she’s not going to get stabbed in the back. His plan is also the most insane one until she gets a fuller picture, but –

She doesn’t know. He sticks around after their conversation ends, leaning against the railing, lost in thought. It’s one of those nights she’s fully ready to drop things until she sleeps when she stops short, eyes widening in realization. Everything had been so insane she’d completely forgotten something important.

“Hey, by the way,” she speaks up and watches his focus fall on her. _Fucking good_ , she thinks, as she steps up and shoves his shoulder hard, not caring even an iota who sees her miming the action at thin air. “You scared the shit out of me, you asshole.”

“What the fuck, V –“

“Those EMP blasts. I knew it was doing _something_ but when you started freaking out like that –“ she begins, then frowns, letting the rest of her sentence die in her throat. She recognizes she is being ridiculous, getting emotional about this, but it feels a little like everything is spiraling and she can’t keep herself in check right now. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do I need to go to Vik?”

His eyebrow lifts at the question. “ _You’re_ the one wobbling around like a fucking drunk. Shouldn’t you be going to him for _you_?”

“I wasn’t the one looking like I was about to blink out of existence,” she shoots back, not letting him sidestep this conversation. She needs him to be honest right now because while she thinks _her_ head is clearing, she has _no_ idea if what happened to him is something separate she needs to worry about. “I mean it. You’re no use to me if suddenly I can’t talk to you anymore because something’s fucked up.”

What she doesn’t say is what she knows is true: if something happens to the personality she’s been talking to, she’s pretty sure it’d forfeit any chance of _him_ surviving all of this when everything’s done and over with. She doesn’t deserve what is happening to her, she knows that, but frankly it’s hard to feel like he deserves it either lately. The idea she’s starting to care about his wellbeing is probably pathetic and too sentimental by any stretch, but she knows it’s there, even stronger now that he’s made it clear thing he’s been looking at things differently lately, too.

Johnny stares at her in silence, taking a drag of his cigarette. She wonders if he’s sensing the things she’s not saying or is at least reading her ever twisting emotions. If he is, he doesn’t seem interested in bringing it up. “Christ, ’m fine, stop fussing. Y’know, you surprise me. All that shit Hellman said inside and I half expected things to get bad between us again. Not worried?”

That fucker Hellman. He’d have a field day, wouldn’t he, with how she’s thinking right now. Probably claim the engram was making her want to keep it alive. There would probably be a time when they couldn’t help it, but for now, it’s a bunch of bullshit. “Always worried, just not about that just yet. I wouldn’t have stood up for you if I was. Don’t make me regret it.”

Maybe she is a gullible idiot and is being fooled by a simulacrum she needs to be someone instead of some _thing_. It’s a risk she’s willing to take, if only because the other one is to simply let herself become an experiment, doomed to let corpo assholes prod at her until the engram finally takes hold or she kills herself. Fuck. That.

She swears she sees his stance relax in the face of her making her own stance clear. 

“You won’t. Mikoshi and Alt,” he repeats, as solemn as he can muster. “You help me, I help you.”

The way he is right now, how he talked about it earlier - she almost thinks she might trust him. Almost thinks maybe the worst might not come to pass. Almost thinks between the two of them, they can find the best way out of this entire nightmare of a situation. Almost, almost, almost. She clings to the almosts, knowing without them, she will surely break. Hope is dangerous, she knows that, but so is the despair she feels clawing at her at every turn. Feeling a little more steady now – steadier than she has been for a while - she meets his gaze, serious.

“Well, where do we start?”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on twitter and yell at me about this game pls - [gottageekout](https://twitter.com/gottageekout)


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